


Gone

by octobersmog



Category: Saints Row
Genre: but fuck i'm emotional, honestly I feel like this is cheesy as shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-01-05
Packaged: 2019-02-28 20:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13278822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/octobersmog/pseuds/octobersmog
Summary: Avery prides herself on being a stone-cold bitch; this is the one time she wasn't.





	Gone

Avery prided herself on being a stone-cold bitch. Over the years, it had become strangely pleasant as she pressed a gun to someone's head and watched their brain matter splatter over the sidewalk. 

But there was one time she had completely and utterly failed to achieve that. 

_Carlos._

His name still bounced around her head from time to time, even years later. She could still remember in perfect detail how she'd fallen out of the car and crawled on her hands and knees towards him.

And his face, jesus fucking christ, his face.

She wasn't going to lie, from the moment she met Carlos Mendoza, she'd thought he was undeniably handsome, from the puppy dog eyes to the signature purple beanie. It was a stark contrast to who she saw lying in the street, clutching her hand. He was almost unrecognisable, like a slab of meat that had been beaten and slashed until it was nothing but pulp.

And she could see, she could plainly fucking see, that he wasn't going to get up. 

Carlos Mendoza wasn't going to get up off this garbage strewn street and walk it off. 

Carlos Mendoza would die on this street, clutching the Boss's hand.

Tears rolled down her cheeks as her hand closed around the cold metal of the gun tucked into her jeans. 

"I'm sorry," she choked. "I am so fucking sorry, Carlos."

And she'd lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.

The hand clutching hers went limp as the gun echoed around the street.

Gone.

Avery didn't know how long she'd knelt in the dirty, disgusting street, letting her tears fall onto a chest that wouldn't breath again. She didn't hear the car pull up behind her; didn't register the possibility that it could be Maero, coming back to finish the job. 

Because it didn't matter.

All that mattered was that Carlos Mendoza was gone, and he wasn't coming back.


End file.
